


Matched

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22371184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Prompto’s going to marry a king.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 26
Kudos: 276





	Matched

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s nervous. Of course he is. He can see the black car winding closer to the palace, the streets blocked off by soldiers—a royal Imperial welcome if ever Prompto saw one. Enough cars trail behind the first to form a grand procession, but Prompto knows it’s the black one out in front that holds his destiny. His father mutters from across the room, “It’s time.”

It isn’t yet. Prompto still has a few minutes left of freedom before his fate is sealed, but he follows the Emperor over to the elevator anyway, because in a way, he’s actually looking forward to this. He probably shouldn’t be. He’s being handed over like a lamb to slaughter, and he knows he’s only a pawn in his father’s cruel games. But once Prompto’s married to _a king_ , he won’t be just a pawn anymore.

He won’t just be a prince, impotent to do anything with his father leaning over him. He has no say on what goes on in the Empire. He can’t force anyone’s hand. His father never listens to him.

Maybe his new husband will. Probably not. The king of Lucis might just brush him aside, see him as a pretty trinket to warm the royal bed, or perhaps not even that, even though Prompto’s not opposed—the idea of sleeping with a stranger is scary, but so is his life as it is; unable to sleep with _anyone_. At least he’ll finally get laid. Imperial propaganda makes Noctis look older than his years, unkempt and grizzled, but Prompto knows that King Noctis Lucius Caelum is only in his thirties, no different than Prompto. Maybe he just doesn’t have time to shave his dark stubble. Maybe his hair’s always a mess because he’s busy actually _doing his job_ : working hard for his people instead of just adorning his throne. Like some Emperors Prompto knows. 

Beside him, that Emperor mutters, “It’s a good trade, my son. A mere prince for a king. And once you’re bonded to him, we’ll finally have control of the other side...”

His father makes it sound like Prompto’s going to bat his lashes, and suddenly Noctis will be head over heels, eager to do whatever Prompto asks. His father seems to think Prompto will ask for marshal law and allegiance to the Empire. 

Prompto will feel out his husband first. He’ll bide his time, get to know his partner, learn what kind of man Noctis _really_ is. The propaganda can’t all be true; the Imperial media’s too corrupt. Maybe, if Prompto’s _very_ lucky, if Noctis is a better man than the Emperor thinks, Prompto will be able to work with him, and they’ll be able to make the world a better place.

Maybe Prompto will finally have some real power, and he’ll use it to forge a lasting peace between their two nations, instead of just the sham his father wants to setup. The elevator doors swing open, and all Prompto can see is the dozens of guards lining the lobby. They display their weapons too proudly, their armour gleaming, all as much mindless machine as Man. Prompto’s so _tired_ of that.

He strolls out to the front, and his father lets him go, because his father doesn’t really care about his safety. Prompto doesn’t think King Noctis will prove dangerous. He was willing to come to Gralea, after all, while the Empire keeps its distance from Insomnia. 

Two soldiers part the enormous doors, and the Lucian delegation strolls through.

King Noctis is at the head of it, and the Imperial media has indeed not done him justice. He’s incredibly, wildly _handsome_. To the point that Prompto’s knees almost get weak. He wasn’t even hoping for that. He was putting all his prayers into political care. But a smoking hot husband is definitely welcome too. He can feel himself smiling, and Noctis looks a little surprise, then smiles too. 

He strolls ahead of the beefcake on his right and the beanpole on his left. He asks, “Is this my groom to be?”

All of Prompto’s good manners fly out the window. He chirps, “Yup,” and thrusts out his hand.

Noctis doesn’t look at all put off by the colloquial language. He takes Prompto’s hand. It’s a good, firm shake, and before he lets go, he gently turns Prompto’s wrist over, taking note of the thin black tattoo painting his skin—the one the Emperor yelled at him over for nearly a week. Noctis’ eyes flare—he clearly recognizes the quote. He looks up to ask, “You play King’s Knight? Level seventy here; I finally just beat Bahamut.”

Prompto’s in love.

He can feel his grin stretching his face. Anybody that plays King’s Knight has got to be a good guy. They’re going to make _so_ many positive changes together. Prompto nods and randomly counters, “D’you like chocobos?”

“Who doesn’t?”

Definitely in love. They’re both staring at each other like idiots. 

Then beanpole subtly nudges Noctis’ side. Noctis withdraws his hand. The Emperor clears his throat and suggests, “Shall we go up to Council Chambers?”

Noctis nods and heads for the elevator. Prompto follows carefully behind, wondering if they can expedite the wedding whilst checking out his future hubby’s butt.


End file.
